As he softly opened the door which led into the Long Gallery he found he was not alone: leaning against one of the casements was a female. Her profile was to Vivian as he entered, and the moon, which shone bright through the window, lit up a countenance which he might be excused for not immediately recognising as that of Mrs. Felix Lorraine. She was gazing steadfastly, but her eye did not seem fixed upon any particular object. Her features appeared convulsed, but their contortions were not momentary, and, pale as death, a hideous grin seemed chiselled on her idiot countenance. Vivian scarcely knew whether to stay or to retire. Desirous not to disturb her, he determined not even to breathe; and, as is generally the case, his very exertions to be silent made him nervous, and to save himself from being stifled he coughed. Mrs. Lorraine immediately started and stared wildly around her, and when her eye caught Vivian’s there was a sound in her throat something like the death-rattle. “Who are you?” she eagerly asked. “A friend, and Vivian Grey.” “How came you here?” and she rushed forward and wildly seized his hand, and then she muttered to herself, “‘tis flesh.” “I have been playing, I fear, the mooncalf to-night; and find that, though I am a late watcher, I am not a solitary one.” Mrs. Lorraine stared earnestly at him, and then she endeavoured to assume her usual expression of countenance; but the effort was too much for her. She dropped Vivian’s arm, and buried her face in her own hands. Vivian was retiring, when she again looked up. “Where are you going?” she asked, with a quick voice. “To sleep, as I would advise all: ‘tis much past midnight.” “You say not the truth. The brightness of your eye belies the sentence of your tongue. You are not for sleep.” “Pardon me, dear Mrs. Lorraine; I really have been yawning for the last hour,” said Vivian, and he moved on. “You are speaking to one who takes her answer from the eye, which does not deceive, and from the speaking lineaments of the face, which are Truth’s witnesses. Keep your voice for those who can credit man’s words. You will go, then? What! are you afraid of a woman, because ‘tis past midnight,’ and you are in an old gallery?” “Fear, Mrs. Lorraine, is not a word in my vocabulary.” “The words in your vocabulary are few, boy! as are the years of your age. He who sent you here this night sent you here not to slumber. Come hither!” and she led Vivian to the window: “what see you?” “I see Nature at rest, Mrs. Lorraine; and I would fain follow the example of beasts, birds, and fishes.” “Yet gaze upon this scene one second. See the distant hills, how beautifully their rich covering is tinted with the moonbeam! These nearer fir-trees, how radiantly their black skeleton forms are tipped with silver; and the old and thickly foliaged oaks bathed in light! and the purple lake reflecting in its lustrous bosom another heaven? la it not a fair scene?” “Beautiful! most beautiful!”